


Untitled Love Triangle

by HarbourSouth



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarbourSouth/pseuds/HarbourSouth
Summary: Set in Buenos Aires.Three loves stories make one love triangle.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Aguacero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Anita asked James if she should wear something better than the homeless-chic style they were both wearing, James said "nobody is going to see us"  
> Boy was he wrong.
> 
> This is the day they met.

January 23, 2015

“Fucking heat, fucking humidity, fucking January, fucking everything,” muttered James while spinning around, looking for his other flip flop. He was wearing a cotton sleeveless tee, and cargo shorts, and it would all stick uncomfortably to his skin as soon as he opened the door and walked into the Buenos Aires summer weather. “I’ve to go to the bar, dammit. I don’t want to leave the house”.

“Don’t you have employees who can do that?” asked Anita from the couch, where she was cuddled with a book, under the air conditioning. “Oh, everyone’s out on holidays, right?”

“Yeah. Fede kept an eye open last week, though.” James was on his hands and knees, an arm under the armchair, patting around. “But until we open on the 1st, it’s just me”. It had taken years to learn that lesson, that instead of juggling holiday days off for everyone and himself, it was easier to close the place altogether so they could all, owner and employees, get a whole fortnight off in the summer. But James still needed the place stocked for re-opening, and if the place was closed, suppliers would just dump goods at the front door and disappear. He needed stuff inside the bar, so there he was, about to go out into a humid heatwave to be a responsible business owner.

“Fede kept an eye open on your bar while on vacation?” asked Anita. “Where do you find employees like that?” she closed her book and put it aside. “Want some company?”

That made him stop and stare, “Really? You'll get out of your lair?” He narrowed his eyes, the beginning of a smile. “Voluntarily? I just have to be there for a delivery."

“I’m bored, dammit.” She stretched to pick a black flip-flop from under the piano and tossed it to James. “First January in years I have nothing to do. Remind me why are we here again?”

“Because when you say you love your students it’s a lie?” James smirked.

“I do love them, just not drunk where I’m also drunk.” Every year they took on Sarah’s invite to spend a few days with her in Gesell, and all they did there was go to the beach during the day, and go to the bars at night. James’ mum, like so many other middle-class people, had taken to spending the whole summer at the seashore since she’d bought the house a decade ago. The problem was that Ani’s students were massively of the middle-class families who also spent January there, and Villa Gessel had always been popular with teenagers. This year, by the fifth chance encounter with a well-known adolescent, Ani had had enough beach and enough crowds, and Buenos Aires didn’t sound so bad. James had come back a few days later to get the bar ready to reopen in February, when the city began to shake off the summer slumber and slowly started coming back to life.

James laughed. “You know, I thought you’d bail from the beach by the third kid who talked to you in the street. You made it to almost eight. Well done,” he smirked, and now he was not barefoot anymore, he was ready to go. “You could have always stayed in the house, you know. Or wear a mask.”

“Can’t we convince her to move her summer house to a quieter place?”

“Somewhere teenagers find boring?”

“Yeah! I’m always happy to see my students inside school buildings, and pretend they vanish into thin air when the bell rings. Like holograms”.

Anita considered what she was wearing: an oversized tee-shirt that could be considered street clothes if you stretched the definition enough. “Should I change? How hot is it outside?”

James was already in the reception area of the house, tying his hair in a bun at the top of his head, and grabbing his keys. “It’s hell, but it’ll be an hour, tops. You’re fine. I’m going like this. Nobody is going to see us”. He patted his pockets for wallet, phone, and keys, and opened the front door.

-

“Fucking hell!” It was Anita’s turn to exclaim this time. "I want to go back already. Can we get a pool on the roof? A shower? A hose? Your beloved patio water feature is going to turn into a Plaza de Mayo fountain on October 17, nineteen forty-five style. Except instead of dipping my feet, I’m going to just… lie there.”

“I’ll let you use my bath when we come back,” James smirked. “It’s like a pool for you”.

“My shower is perfectly fine.” She was a grown woman in her late 20s, who was above being affected by teasing over height difference. She wasn’t that short anyway. “But I do insist on the roof water… whatever. A sprinkle, even.”

“Need to finish the plumbing for a pool, hose, or that potted garden you want. Plants need water."

She eyed him. “You’re planning to do plumbing? I can see that going well.” James had a long list of virtues: he was skilled at dealing with people, tidy and organized, a talented musician and a fantastic singer. He was an excellent cook and he is certainly Anita’s favourite person in the world, but that lot of things James was good at had never, and never would, include repairing things around the house. The coarsest those hands were made for was dough and guitar strings.

“I’m not doing it myself. What do I know of plumbing? I’ll have someone do it, Ana.”

“Sure. You do well with architects and all related contractors," she muttered, sarcasm dripping.

“That was just one time.”

“Twice!” She lifted her index finger. “That architect who didn’t go onto remodelling the bar, because you couldn’t stay out of her pants,” she lifted her middle finger, “and the guy who was supposed to tile my bathroom? Which I ended up doing myself because it was taking forever?” Ani aimed her narrowed eyes at him. "Your policy of not getting involved with people who work for you should include them, you know? Be a responsible landlord. It's your house after all".

“Fine.” James looked as if he’d have buried his hands in his pockets, or crossed his arms on his chest, but it was too hot, so he lifted his chin. “Then you handle fixing everything at the bar, because that is still your property. Be a responsible landlady.”

"I am, as a matter of fact, less useless than you. Tiled my own shower after all. And if something doesn’t work out I’ll… I don’t know, find myself a boyfriend who can fix ...stuff, you’ll see.”

“I'd like a plumber for myself. Or a lady welder. Sexy. The construction industry could use more ladies”

“I shudder at the thought of you anywhere near dangerous machinery. Maybe an artist for you. Someone who’ll paint murals.” Anita swept the air in front of her to illustrate. “We could get rid of the ugly tapestry”.

“I like the tapestry,” gasped James, a hand on his heart.

Anita scoffed. “Please. Since when?”

It had been a gift from Sarah when James had announced that his guestroom was officially Anita’s bedroom for the foreseeable future. It was a gigantic reddish-brown rectangle, with black and white shapes in no sensible order. It was plain ugly. He’d hung it in the dining area, right where it was the first thing you saw upon entering the house. Anita insists to this day it has to be a joke, that Sarah never meant James to put it on display.

Sarah was the closest to a mother Anita had ever known. She’d met her as her boyfriend’s mother in secondary school, and loved her as such until Hugo, her grandfather and only living relative had died suddenly, leaving Anita entirely alone in the world overnight, under Sarah’s legal guardianship. The twists of life had James running his bar in Hugo’s old property, Anita living under his roof, and Sarah celebrating the occasion with a godawful tapestry that Ani thought was a fair way of saying ‘This is my revenge for all the tears I shed over both of you, I hope you hate it’. Anita still found James’ confused insistence that his mother wouldn’t be so cruel to prank him like that endlessly entertaining.

When they arrived at the bar, James opened the front door, and they went inside.

“I’ve missed you, girl. It’s nice to have you back all to myself,” he said with a wide smile. “Now we need something to keep us busy until you start some new thing in a month,'' he said, and started opening windows to let some air in.

Ani smiled back at him. It was nice to have no deadlines, and all the time in the world to see her other friends, her mum, maybe read stuff that wasn’t listed on a syllabus, but mostly to just hang out with James and spend time together.

There was a rumble of thunder in the distance.


	2. Enter Cristian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Cristian  
> (quite literally)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La calle brilla para la ocasión. (Aguacero. Mario Benedetti)

The thing with summer storms was that sometimes they killed heatwaves and brought relief, but some other times all they did was lift even more heat from the concrete and make the air downright unbreathable. All Cristian hoped was for this one to be an example of the former. It was pelting now, and the bus felt crowded even if it was just the driver, two other people and himself on it. Why people closed all windows in public transport on summer rainy days was beyond him.

So far, living in San Telmo had been exactly what he had imagined. He’d moved in October and had found that the life of the pedestrian wasn’t that bad if you lived in the right place, especially when the parking nightmare had spread to consume these parts as well. When January came, and all the school kids disappeared or blended in with the tourists and the neighbours, Cristian decided that not even the punishing heatwave could make San Telmo anything less than his favourite place in the world.

It was a cliché, he knew, falling in love with the cobbled streets and the narrow sidewalks and old cafés and bars on every corner. It made a stark contrast with the modern minimalist lines that ruled in the posh northern Buenos Aires Province where he had grown up. The first time he’d come to a pub in the area, it’d been love at first sight. Perhaps it was his borderline obsessive dream of getting his hands on one of these old chorizo houses, a whim that in no small part had tipped his choice of architecture over civil engineering when he had to make a choice of career. Perhaps it was also that this was the farthest he could get from his family without leaving the city. Beyond San Telmo there was only La Boca and he’d move all the way out to Avellaneda before considering living in La Boca, thank you very much.

When the 24 bus crossed Independencia Av., he pondered for a second. He could get off the bus now and go to the market, maybe get a cold beer, but he pondered for so long he missed the stop. He was almost home. He braced for the run from the next stop to his building a good hundred metres away, which was a lot when rain fell in buckets.

He didn’t make it more than across the avenue before he had to find shelter under the small awning of the café at the corner. He patted his pockets, a healthy habit in this city, and looked inside the café to see if it was open. There was a sign on the glass door that read “Cerrado - Fermé - Closed - Chiuso - Zamknięte - Geschlossen”. Ok. Roger: it was closed.

Weird place, this one. He’d noticed it a couple weeks after moving. It was always bustling in the morning when he left for work, surely this people from the schools across the street and a block away. In the evenings, however, it came alight, bands played, and it looked like a completely different place.

He was in the middle of musing the first three changes he’d make to the place with paint alone, when a young man in cargo shorts and flip flops opened the door.

"No va a parar. Entrá." he said, already walking back inside. He spoke with a weird accent. Cristian took in the bun at the top of his head, and the tank top. He looked more like a surfer than a bartender in Buenos Aires.

“¿De dónde sos?” he asked.

“Please tell me you speak English. If you don’t, I’m kicking you back out under the rain.” The man said, before disappearing behind the back, where the kitchen must be.

He’d been so distracted by how the man didn’t quite fit the time and place, what with the tan, and the beach look, that only when he reached the counter did he notice the young woman sitting at the other end. She was wearing a baggy yellow dress, which could be just an oversized tee, and she was barefoot. Her red flip flops were on the floor under her stool. She had her elbows on the counter, and was staring at him with something like amusement glinting in her eyes. What colour are those eyes?. “I do, yeah,” he managed after blinking out of staring at her.

“Good. What can we offer you? I’m afraid options are limited because, well, we are closed. Only cold drinks are stout and tereré.” The man was there and then out of sight again. “I’m assuming you don’t want coffee or tea or—” there was a clang of bottles, “--cognac”.

“Stout is fine,” said Cristian. He wondered what distance from the girl it was safe to sit so that it didn’t look weird. He pointed at the mate equipment in front of her. "Orange juice?"

The girl nodded. “He hates it with water alone” she said in a low voice, for Cristian alone. Then added, louder, “these immigrants want to belong but refuse to assimilate.” Her voice was a trained one, like a stage performer, or a radio presenter. She had the most infectious grin, and her English had a British lilt to it.

Cristian smiled back, and immediately looked elsewhere. He studied his surroundings to distract himself.

The place was nice, but was outdated, and not in the vintage way that decorators tried so hard to reproduce from the Notables. He wondered if this was one of those bars where people came to speak in tongues, which he knew was just that, but sounded to him like summoning demons. The old sign on the building read something… a French something. Maybe the man was French?

“I’m Anita,” the girl said, and extended her hand. “And that´s James.” Hazel, his brain provided. Her eyes were hazel. He blinked.

“Cristian.” He wondered what his name would sound in her voice, or James’.

Again, he looked around. The problem with this place, he decided, was that it looked ugly compared to these people. He wondered why he had never noticed something like that before. He took in the high ceilings, and his brain was already providing ideas for mezzanines to add more tables, when lighting blinded even the inside of the restaurant, and he saw Anita brace for the thunder.

The crack and rumble that followed were deafening. A crumbling building would probably make a racket like that.

“JESUS!” came James’ voice from the back. “Cristian! Peanuts? Bizcochitos? Not much to choose from, sorry.”

Cris looked to the open door where James’ head was poking, his eyebrows raised in question. “With your beer. Which one?” 

“Oh, just beer is fine, thanks”

“As you wish,” said James, and walked over with a bottle, and grabbed a glass from a shelf. “Where are you from, then? You picked a terrible day to come visit the old part of town”.

“Oh, no, I’m not a tourist. Do I look like a tourist?” Cristian hoped he looked amused, but the truth is that it offended him some, being mistaken for a tourist. It was stupid, but so what? He wanted to leave the rugby player from Pilar behind, blend in and belong in San Telmo like people who are not like his family. Normal people. But anyway, he looked and sounded as Argentinian as they come. Right? “I live a block from here. I moved in a couple months ago. You are from…?"

"California originally, been here for a decade already. Ani grew up here--" James pointed up, like she lived upstairs. "--but her English’s weird because she lived in the UK".

“The scholarship at the posh bilingual secondary school where I met him didn’t help.” Anita chirped from where she was standing at the window. You could barely see outside, rain like sheets blocking even the view from across the avenue. “I hope your block doesn’t flood,” she said.

“I’m about to find out, I guess”. For about four seconds, he turned and looked outside too. Anita was silhouetted against the window, and Cristian wondered if she was aware that the light made her dress see-through. He immediately turned back to his beer and was met with James’ eyes on him. He had the most piercing eyes Cris had ever seen, but the almost-glare lasted for a split second before he was blinded by a wide grin.

“Man, I hope you don’t regret moving to the south,” he laughed, and Cristian was, again, slightly shocked by how attractive these people were. James looked right out of an American movie. Tall, strikingly beautiful with his long hair in a bun, blinding smile, and grey-blue eyes. Anita was on the short side, with long brown hair and green-brown eyes. Pretty, but not stunning like James. There was a different air to her, a more unassuming beauty that you’d miss if you didn’t make a point of looking at her. He’d draw anyone’s attention, and she would keep it. They made sense together.

“I had never been here before,” admitted Cristian. “You own the place?” he asked James.

“The place is actually hers. I own the bar, or café, depending on the time of day. But I don’t pay rent because she lives in my house.”

It was such an odd way to phrase it that it made Cristian smile. Maybe they weren’t married, but who got married these days anyway? If you asked Cristian, people who either had no idea what they were getting themselves into or had too many expectations.

Anita was back on her stool. “What do you do?” she asked.

“Oh. I’m an architect, I work--” started Cristian, and he wasn’t ready for the way Anita’s eyes filled with amusement and tore from him to look at James, or for James biting his lips and shaking his head. Cristian was confused. “What did I say?,” he asked.

James then looked at the ceiling like he was collecting himself, sighed, and pinned Cristian with a glare. “Cristian, we had the perfect beginning for a love story, you and I,” he said in a hard voice. Then he sighed again, dramatically, and gave Cristian a heart-breaking fake sad gaze. “But I hate your kind”.

“Uh, sorry?” tried Cristian, glancing at Anita for help. Anita’s explosion of laughter was infectious, and made Cristian laugh with her. “Sorry! I had no idea I’d disappoint you so quickly!” he chuckled. “Ok, someone explain, please!”

“James has issues with architects,” Anita explained when she recovered.

“He already knows that, Ani!” James bellowed, but tinged with laughter too. “Not only have I just told him I hate his kind, he also--” James waved around himself, “-- has seen my bar.”

“What did my kind do to you?!” asked Cristian, joining in the hilarity.

Anita cackled like a maniac and James was sprawled on the counter with his head in his hands, like he was embarrassed.

Cristian nodded, the remnants of laughter on his face. “Fine. Be like that. I’m not going anywhere until the downpour quiets down, so I’ll just... wait,” he shrugged, and lifted his bottle to his lips.

“Ok, ok…” James was the first to sober up. “I know this place is a mess of mismatched decor, and I appreciate that you didn’t make faces, or develop a rash looking at it”.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. I only design ugly things like fuel tanks and gas stations” said Cristian. “I hate restaurants, houses. You know, places that make people happy”. 

James put a hand on Cristian’s shoulder. “You are perfect for this job, then. It’s yours if you promise not to mention it again. Ever.”

“Done,” said Cristian, and extended an open hand. They shook hands on it.

Cris explained that his job with an oil company apparently required a vow to never care about what makes people happy. He was half-joking, but still James slapped his shoulder and thanked him, because he could only imagine how hard it must be for a goddamn architect to sit in that place and just ignore that the only corner that had ever seen professional designers in his restaurant was the kitchen, which was out of sight. “Ok, one day I’m going to go in there and critique it, then,” said Cristian, and Anita nodded her assent, like it was a good idea.

“Oh, wait! I bet you’ll like my bedroom, too” James exclaimed. Anita choked on her tereré so fast she missed Cristian’s eyes going wide. “What? It was featured in a magazine,” said James, looking between them, his face all innocence. Anita was wiping tears off her eyes.

“And to think you walked in here to avoid being struck by lightning!” she tried in between coughs. “It’s true, though. There’s a glass hallway leading to his bedroom that’s in magazines. You’d probably die for it”. 

“Ok, so what’s with the rent, and his bedroom? You’re not a couple?”

“Oh, no. My bedroom is the guestroom upstairs, literally the size of his closet,” Anita explained. 

It piqued Cristian’s curiosity. They made a weirdly attractive ensemble, but if they were not actually an item, he was not going to file a complaint about it. It was none of his business, and he didn’t get the feeling he sometimes got from people who found him attractive, and wanted to broadcast that they were available. So maybe James was, but it seemed in jest, and didn’t bother him anymore than it amused him. Odd for him to feel so instantly at ease around strangers, but he stayed for a whole hour, even after the storm had slowed down and allowed him to go home.

“I promise next time I have an outing with architect friends I’m bringing them here. It’ll make a good change of scene,” he said as he was walking through the door. “All the stylish, beautiful places look the same these days, right? They’ll remember it here,” he told James while walking backwards toward the curb.

“Don’t get run over by the bus, Cris.” James said, as a bus effectively ran past, too close. Stupid narrow sidewalks.

Anita was waving from where she was leaning on the door frame, an amused grin on her face. Her dress billowed a little in the blessed draft the summer storm had left behind. James stayed there staring at him for a second.

“Sunday the first, then. I’ll be here. Thanks for the beer.” He nodded his goodbye, turned, and had to fight the temptation to look back for the whole block he walked to his building.

-

“Guy’s so hot my gaydar is all confused with hope. But I think straight. You?”

“I hope so. Damn”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No va a parar, entrá" - It's not going to stop, come in  
> "¿De dónde sos?" - Where are you from?
> 
> San Telmo is the oldest neighbourhood of the city of Buenos Aires, famous for its well-preserved colonial style.
> 
> Tereré is an infusion with yerba mate but prepared with cold water or juice. Originally from Paraguay, it's rather popular in Buenos Aires, too. In the middle of a heatwave in Buenos Aires, you'll do well to try it with orange juice.


	3. Beginnings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The city slowly comes back to regular life.  
> Cristian has a lot to adjust to and getting to know the neighbours is as good a place to start as any.

February 1st, 2015

“Ah, the architect!” exclaimed James mid-grin, hands occupied handing empty pints and glasses to the bartender next to him. “Fede, meet Cristian, new neighbour and friend of the house’s. Cristian, this is Fede, our man-in-charge tonight.”

Fede offered a hand over the bar. “Welcome!” he said, customer smile on. James glanced at the door, where Anita was walking in with a small group of friends, and made a face Cristian couldn’t quite decipher.

Another man was at the beer taps. “And this one here is our man-in-charge most of the time,” continued James. “But today he’s in charge of beer. Christian, this is Cristian”.

“Oh, a namesake!” exclaimed the bartender, and proceeded to stretch from where he’s holding a glass under a tap, and shook Cristian’s hand, as well. “Welcome. This one’s for you,” he said while offering a pint on his other hand. “Your name has an H?”

“No, yours?” said Cris.

“Well, at least in writing we have different names,” said Christian the bartender.

Cris settled on a stool at the far end of the bar. From there, he took in the scene around him, while he seeped his pint and ate peanuts.

Behind him, the stage area was closed with heavy velvet curtains, which made the bar look almost half as small as it really was. With the warm lightning, the mismatched décor, the place felt cosy and familiar. Weird. Because even so, very much gone was the odd intimacy he’d felt in this same place a week ago, sitting with two complete strangers.

During the last week since then, Cristian had found Anita and James popping onto his mind at random. Once when a co-worker had sarcastically complained “who cares what people like, right?” after an argument with her boss. Twice when someone mentioned a new place that was reopening after remodelling. From then on, he stopped keeping track, and just wondered why he found it uncomfortably weird that he didn’t even have their numbers, or a way to find them on Instagram. If he’d looked up the place in Google Maps and followed the related Instagram account the moment he’d arrived home that evening, he hoped nobody was paying attention. He stopped short of browsing the comments for familiar names because that was creepy.

A couple groups of people were occupying the tables, already eating and drinking. More people were coming in and picking tables and stools. Most patrons seemed to know the staff. Some greeted the waitresses with hugs or came over to the bar to shake hands with Fede and Christian the bartender. The staff moved expertly so that everyone had a pint or a drink in their hand barely two minutes after crossing the threshold. The door to the kitchen was closed, and only a window where ready-made dishes waited to be taken to the patrons betrayed that it existed at all.

The music was barely audible in the ambient noise, but there still. Cristian hummed and tapped his foot on the floor to the familiar tune of a Rolling Stones anthem. He made a mental note to ask James what he thought of the religion-like level the British band had been elevated to in Argentina.

Anita’s group was settling at the living-room table in the corner, the only one of the kind in the whole bar. She and a petite waitress were chatting animatedly while James was handing out menus and greeting people himself. Handshakes, half hugs, and kisses everywhere. Everyone here was in the business of making strangers feel welcome.

It had worked on him, even while closed.

Anita made eye contact with him, and smiled. She peeled from her party to come to the bar. He barely managed to stand to greet her before she was wrapping an arm around him. “One Cristian who won’t hate me tonight, that’s good,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. When she saw Cristian’s confusion, she winked and extended her hand over the bar to Christian the bartender.

“No,” said Christian the bartender, dryly. He was looking at Anita in a manner that should have been scary, considering Cristian the bartender was as tall as Cristian the architect, but broader, maybe as broad and heavy as he had been when he was Cristian the rugby player. Complete with the long hair, beard and heavy metal style going on, Christian the bartender was so scary-looking that the glare looked almost cartoonish.

Anita winced, and retrieved her hand with a slight eyeroll and a heavy sigh. She sat on a stool with her back to the bar, and to the bartender. She spoke to Cristian. “You’re just in time for some drama tonight.”

“Shut up,” said the bartender from behind the bar.

Anita ignored him. “My friend María, the one in the white dress—” she pointed with a look, “-apparently drank too much on New Year. She forgot her manners and let her crush on Christian here get the best of her, and—"

“I don’t like being groped against my will” muttered the bartender.

“—did exactly what makes us, girls, want to stick forks in men’s eyes. Which was wrong!” she continued, for both Cristians’ sake.

“She touched me, Ani!” came a low growl from behind the bar. Ani continued talking to Cristian like there was not a bear-like frowny bartender behind her. Cristian tried not to laugh. He didn’t think he was succeeding.

“And she needs to learn a lot about consent, of course. Because it’s not ok to grope someone who doesn’t want to be groped, no matter how big and scary he is.” she continued. “I mean, this is like if I tried to grope you. It wouldn’t be ok--”

“No, it wouldn’t,” says James, who appeared next to Anita, and sat facing Cristian as well.

“Right. I had no idea about any of this because no one told me—” she glared at James, who nodded, still pointedly looking at Cristian, “--so I invited her tonight. Not that not inviting her would have prevented her from coming anyway. Unless we blacklist people now?”

“We can blacklist her from sitting at our table!” muttered Christian the bartender.

James spoke to Cristian. “We don’t have a staff room, and the kitchen staff are territorial, so don’t ever walk in there. Anyway, the rest of the staff uses that table,” he pointed at the corner where Anita’s friends are sitting. “Which is where I was planning to sit with you, before someone brought trouble,” he looked at Anita, who sighed.

A waitress shorter than Anita appeared next to Cristian.

“Dear tall stranger, would you mind reaching a high place for me?,” she asked him from more or less the level of his chest. “Because none of the tall people who work here remembered me when they didn’t get anything ready for tonight”.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Juli,” said James. “Meet our friend Cristian. Cristian, this is Julia, she’s our host.” She had to stand on her toes to kiss Cristian’s cheek.

“I’ll get that for you. Sorry,” continued James, already following Julia to her post at the end of the bar. Cristian watched him reach the top shelf over a side table and produce a couple of boxes he left on the table.

Anita interrupted his explorations of the weird boss-employee dynamics going on there. “Ready to join us? I promise you’re safe.” 

“He’s not,” said Christian the bartender. “Don’t believe her. You are that woman’s type!”

Anita tilted her head in the direction of the table. “I’ll never live this down,” she said. Cristian grabbed his pint from the counter and followed her.

“When we get there, do not sit on the couch. Grab a chair, sit next to James,” she instructed. Sounded like safety procedures, so he intended to comply.

Cristian was introduced to all three of Anita’s friends, and then also to the rest of the staff, each as they sat to eat during their breaks. The conversation flowed easily. Juan José, the only guy there, was a History teacher, Eliana was a Biology teacher, and they both worked with Anita at the secondary school around the corner. María was a friend of Eliana’s and she was a nurse.

About Anita, he learned that she came back from the UK four years ago, a BA in Linguistics under her arm, and had just graduated as a French teacher here. She worked as a teacher: English at the school round the corner, (which Cristian could see from his apartment), and other linguistics-related subjects at Teacher Training colleges of the city, in Spanish, English and French. 

“I’m disappointed that you only speak three languages,” he teased.

“Russian and Japanese I can read, some. But I still speak them very, VERY basically”

“I was teasing, Ani. Jesus,” he muttered. “I like how different your voice sounds in Spanish,” he added, honestly.

“Thank god it sounds impressive. I’ll never impress anyone with all my other inexistent skills.” She grinned. “It’s literally the only thing I’m good at. I’ll work on making more voices.”

James sat with them from time to time. Kept them up to date with the gossip. Fede and Juli, who were cousins, made up after an argument they’d had during a family gathering in January. Ina, the head chef, broke up with her girlfriend and was so heartbroken she wanted to work overtime to keep her mind off it. The kitchen people were as enigmatic as promised and only left their lair for their breaks. Christian the bartender did not sit with them when his came.

“Are you having a good time? I promise it’s not always this…. Dramatic,” said Ani while adding an unhealthy amount of salt to a pile of chicken fingers.

Cris nodded. “I thought for a second that I’d find myself the centre of attention,” he said. Anita blinked so he explained: “When I arrived, a minute before you, James started introducing me to everyone and for a second I was a bit taken aback,” he said honestly. “I thought I’d start feeling the stares, but then your friend stole the spotlight. It was a good thing.”

“Really?” Anita studied him. “You don’t strike me as shy.”

“I’m not,” he said, “I don’t think. I just don’t like being the centre of attention either”.

“A tall people problem. Can’t relate. Sorry,” she made a show of ignoring him to finger something on her 11cm wedges.

Cristian looked around. “I’m sure people look at everyone new here,” he said after a while. “I kinda felt like the new kid at school for a second.”

She smiled at James, who handed her a bowl of smoking fries and left again. “Cris, people look at you because… well, look at you.” She said it matter-of-factly, without any hint of personal appreciation, or the usual leer that tended to accompany remarks about his looks. “But you’re right. Most people here are regulars”.

“Looks like it never needed a professional designer to make it look good, then,” he smiled, and when Ani stood to go to the toilet a while later, he was glad he hadn’t quit smoking, because now that he found himself alone, it provided a perfect excuse to go outside.

“Hey, namesake,” Christian the bartender greeted from the other door to the bar, which today was concealed behind the curtain that cut the place in half and hid the stage. Cris lit a cigarette and joined him, out of sight from the table at the corner.

“Is it safe for you out here? She could come out and harass you,” he said.

“Oh, you’re mocking me, too. Great,” the bartender said without malice. Cristian smiled. 

“I’m not mocking you. I’m sorry. I mean I know it’s awful, being in that position.”

Cristian the bartender studied him. “You must know at least six techniques to untangle women off your body, man”.

Cris smiled. How and why he had developed those weren’t exactly good memories. “It’s not pretty. I know. But she’s probably sorry. If someone knows how not cool it is to be groped without their consent, that’s women, right? I’m sure she’ll apologize. If you let her?”

Cristian the bartender let his shoulders fall, a small concession. “I mean, it wasn’t like I was about to start a brawl. There might have been some high-pitched yelling, which, coming from a guy like me it’s kinda undignified, right?”

Cristian choked.

“—but I’m not a violent man, I just look like this,” he shrugged.

Cristian nodded. “Yeah I’m all peace and love myself, too.”

The bartender lit another cigarette and nodded. “You look like the rugby kind,” he said, carefully.

Cris winced. “Used to be.”

Cristian the bartender nodded. “I played some, too, once. Didn’t like it.”

“Same here. Not my scene anymore.” It touches a nerve, the memory. He was glad all that was behind him. “I hear everyone in there is a musician. You too?”

Christian the bartender nodded. “Drums. Some bass. You?”

“CDs,” he laughed.

“Not going to get too far with them like that, architect,” the bartender chuckled. “I have to go back,” he added, and disappeared before Cristian could say anything else.

“I thought you had left,” came Anita’s voice a second later. “James said you wouldn’t disappear without saying goodbye”

“Well…no.” It was obvious, he hoped. “But you did leave me alone in there,” he teased.

“I promise you are safe!” Anita patted her pockets and sighed. Cristian offered her his lighter. “This is a horrible habit, Cris, I hope you know that,” she said while giving it back. “I’m just giving you James’ speech,” she added with an eyeroll.

“Oh he’s that type?”

“He used to smoke, too. Don’t let him get all sanctimonious about it. But he quit and now he just likes being a pain in the neck.”

He considered his own cigarette, almost consumed. “Sometimes I think I still smoke because it’s a good excuse to take smoke breaks. I’m not going to smoke another one, I don’t want to, but I’m comfortable here so I just might,” he shrugged.

Anita told him she’d started smoking while she studied, and he offered that, what with the paper and highly flammable stuff on sleepless nights, it was the opposite for him. She asked for his own resume, considering he’d questioned her about hers earlier. He told her he’d graduated as an architect in 2009 at UBA and had finished his MB last year. She nodded, and then said that an MB was something she’d considered, too.

“Not going to take time off? I finished last May and since then I moved, and I’m rediscovering my love of drawing. I hadn’t done anything for pleasure for years”

“You draw? Well, of course you draw. What do you draw?”

“Buildings, mostly,” he laughed. “I know, it’s so boring. But this part of the city has so much to look at”. Cristian turned and pointed at the huge windows, and the tables inside. “I can sit at a café and draw the building across the street, or spend hours drawing a detailed window”.

Anita followed his line of sight and smiled. “Pencils? Ink?”

“Pens, mostly. I’m trying my hand at watercolours now. Haven’t made a lot of progress,” he winces. “I just bought them one day and noticed I had no idea how to use them. It was just one of those things that are not necessary for your professional life, but you’ve always felt curious about.”

“And why not learn more formally?” she asked. “Sorry, it feels like I’m interrogating you,” she laughed.

“I think you are mulling over something while you interrogate me,” he tried.

She grinned like he just hit the jackpot. “I was thinking about the time off, or what to start next.” She took a drag of her cigarette and nodded. “I’ve always thought I’m going to start a new language, more formally. Maybe Russian. Or do a postgraduate in something related to my degree, or do something else entirely, become a tourist guide. I don’t know, I want to do a lot of things”

Cristian studied her for a second. “I think I know someone who teaches History of Buenos Aires architecture, or something like that. Something to do with tourist guides. I’ll look into it, if you like?”

Anita seemed to consider this. She nodded. “I could, right? What’s stopping me?” She shrugged. “I could totally do that. Right?”

“I don’t think anything starts 'till late March. You have time to decide,” said Cris. “A lot can happen in two months.”

-

Feb 2nd 2015

Cristian opened his eyes but didn’t move from his supine position in bed. His first thought was that he should be able, by now, to draw the lines of old paint on his ceiling by memory alone. 

The second was Anita.

It had felt like the dumbest excuse to get a girl’s number, contacting a friend who might have information she might find useful. Cristian had mentally shrugged last night, when he’d typed his number on Ani’s phone, and showed her he’d got hers. After that, the rest of the evening had been all about Christian the bartender sulking, and María and the small dramas that seemed to fuel the evening. Ani told him about the nights when James and the staff took turns joining a couple of musicians on stage and the bar became a music hall. It was usually on Thursdays and Fridays, but it mostly happened at random. 

Cristian was 1.92 metres tall and he knew he was attractive. He didn’t know this because he saw it in the mirror, but because since he’d started turning heads in his late teens, he’d learned to manage other people’s eyes running up and down his height shamelessly. At almost 30, he thought of himself above fretting over the dance of second-guessing people’s intentions and expectations. It was the result of years of therapy, where he’d landed when he was younger, tired of being so easily pressed and desperate to fit in somewhere. His whole adult life he had tried to avoid people who put him off without dwelling much on the reasons, or whether he’d come across as arrogant. He’d followed his gut feeling and tried to stick to those he liked. 

Both Anita and James had seemed and acted so genuinely kind since the moment they’d opened the door for him a week ago. It was probably because it was their business, to make people feel welcome, but his gut had spoken: he’d liked them immediately, and he wasn’t surprised to find himself looking forward to confirming his first impression. It was a relief, then, yesterday evening. Anita had seemed relaxed around him, didn’t make remarks regarding María or Eliana, or anyone else, didn’t try to pair him with anyone. If he’d radiated “I’m only making friends” it had worked, and he was glad she hadn’t played games. 

And that’s why he wasn’t going to fret over what Anita might think if he texted her straightaway. He was going to follow his instinct and find the information he could for her, and send it with an invitation to see her again, because fuck this, he was new around here, and could make some new friends. Amelia and Mati would be thrilled to visit one day and find him settled and on first-name basis with the young people at the café around the corner, and not just the grandmas and grandpas of the building who treated him like a new pet.

Anyway, he mentally shrugged, this kindling interest could mean nothing, or Anita might not even be interested in him. Not like that anyway. Beautiful people are probably immune to it, too. He should ask Amelia.

-

“But he, like, texted you. Already.” James stated in that way that meant he was asking for confirmation. He glanced at the clock. “It’s two in the afternoon.” 

They were sitting at their small kitchen table, eating leftover pizza, and discussing Cristian in favour of Juan José, who, after spending the night with James, had left right before Anita came downstairs.

“That’s exactly what I just told you”. 

James yawned, but still narrowed his eyes. “Why do you suddenly act all uninterested? You said he was hot, and the guy was all over you last night”.

Anita yawned in turn. “He wasn’t all over me.”

“He didn’t move from your side all night”.

“Which is not the same as being all over someone”. She poured more water for both, and mused, “And did anyone not notice that he’s hot?” She pushed her plate aside. “He’s just moved. Let him make friends. Can’t he be interested in making friends?”

James rolled his eyes.

“WHAT”

“Nothing,” muttered James.

Anita sighed. “There are other options besides ‘not interested’ and ‘straight into my bedroom’” she pointed in the direction of the glass hallway that led to James’ bedroom. “When are you seeing Juan José again?”

James made a face, which Anita read as a ‘never’.

“Not every conversation has to be either foreplay or small talk.” Anita looked at James, a genuine question in her eyes. “Why can’t the guy be trying to just make friends?” 

“Because he’s a guy, and you’re a girl. There’s not such a thing as friends there”

Anita raised an eyebrow.

James rolled his eyes. “I’m not a straight guy. He is”.

She closed her eyes, and sighed.

James insisted. “He is”.

“Ok, he is. He didn’t seem to be interested in me anyway. Or you. But he’s cool. Maybe we can have an architect friend,” she gave his shoulder a gentle push, a smirk on her face.

James tore his gaze off her and sighed, dramatically. “Ok we can be friends. Just because he might be useful”.

She snorted. “Selfless as usual,” she laughed.

James grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what's going to happen to these two in the next two months.


	4. Caminando por el Microcentro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Caminando por el Microcentro” is the title of a song by Argentinian punk band Ataque77.

February 17th 2015

The first move had been Cristian wasting no time to put Anita in contact with his friend Héctor, who taught future Tourist Guides. “The website has lots of information, but I can get you the actual syllabi of the subjects,” Héctor said via audio message, directly to Ani, a couple days later. She’d drooled at that, so they arranged to meet at the institute on the 17th, the day it would open again after the summer holidays.

The exchange with Cristian during those days was such that Cristian was happy to join her, if only to see his old classmate again.

Until then, Anita and Cristian texted, met by chance at the bar, and every time they talked about nonsense, about James and whatever he was up to at that moment, about how Cristian was a full-time pedestrian for the first time in his life, and was considering buying a motorbike.

“You on a bike? YES,” said James. “Covered in leather, too, please.”

Anita didn’t say anything.

“No, but seriously. It’s more convenient than a car, which you don’t want unless you absolutely need it. I keep mine because I need it for work, and my house has a garage so that’s no parking expenses. Otherwise, it’s ridiculous to keep one, living here.”

When the pair wasn’t around, Cris spent his time sitting at the bar and chatting with the staff. Christian the bartender had a sarcastic sense of humour that made Cris weep with laughter, sometimes at the expense of other customers.

Cristian liked this. The last time he’d had a place like this to patron regularly had been the school canteen. And perhaps now the café where he bought lunch almost every day? But never a place he’d just spend time in, for no good reason. And since he was about to take two entire weeks off work, it was nice to know he could drop by whenever he felt like company.

On the 17th, Cristian and Anita met at the front door of the Gibraltar pub, and since they were in no rush, decided to walk to the A-line subway.

They talked about themselves in the way two people who don’t know each other very well do, but they also talked about everyday stuff. How’s the bike hunting going? Nowhere, Cris needs to talk to someone who knows more about this. Ani suggested Cris ask Christian the bartender, who rides a bike daily. How’s the data-gathering on other possibilities for this year? Only starting thanks to Cris, so Ani is not much better off than the first time they talked about this.

Occasionally, Anita asked for an architect’s comments on something they saw. She seemed to have picked on when by the way Cristian’s gaze lingered on something he hadn’t seen before. Cris felt self-conscious at first, but soon he was happy to let go and think out loud. Anita seemed to follow his stream of unrelated thoughts seamlessly.

When she started pointing at random stuff and asking, “what’s that called” for the eleventh time, he retorted with “say something in Russian,” because he’d heard people who speak languages hated it, and he was in the mood for some poking fun.

She didn’t mind at all, apparently, because she smiled, proud. Then she said something that very much sounded Russian to him, but he couldn’t really tell. Then she said something else. “That was Thank you in Romanian.” Then something else. “that was in Pashto” then something else. “That was goodbye in Swedish”

Cristian stopped walking and stared, gobsmacked.

“Now, one of those was true, the other two were just bullshit,” she said.

He liked Anita, he decided. A lot.

They arrived at the institute and Cristian hugged Héctor at the front door, where he was smoking in the shade. Héctor was barely taller than Anita, and looked mid-thirties if you ignored the balding. He seemed genuinely glad to see Cristian again.

Cris introduced her as his friend, and they all sat at a small office where Héctor had already prepared a manila folder full of photocopies.

“Cristian told me you speak several languages, and that you’re a teacher. I admit I’m invested in convincing you to join us in March,” said Héctor with a raised eyebrow. “Here’s a copy of all the syllabi for all the subjects. I also added one of each brochure we have. I hope you get the hint: We want you, Anita. I swear this one has no idea what he’s done.”

They went out for a cup of coffee, during which she found out that Cristian skated through Architecture like it was a summer course, which is why he’d only shared some classes with Héctor in the last year. Cristian, she could swear, blushed under the compliments, if it was even possible to see a blush clearly on his sun-tanned skin. Handsome, smart and humble, she thought. This is going to be difficult.

They spent the trip back on the subway sitting close together, skimming though the contents of the folder, and checking random sheets. When they arrived at Plaza de Mayo, they sat there for a while.

“Looks like a huge commitment”. She knew she sounded overwhelmed.

“There’s still time until it starts,” said Cristian. “Take your time. You’re still on holidays”

“Look who’s talking.”

“I’m not planning on starting anything else this year!” he laughed. “Only thing on my mind right now is to make myself at home at my new place. I’m going to paint the whole apartment this week and the next. And the bike”.

“And the bike,” nodded Anita. “You know, I’m just going to put this out there. I like you, Cris. I’d rather you didn’t voluntarily scatter your brains on the pavement under some drunk driver’s truck”.

Cristian waited a minute to speak. “This anything to do with your parents?”

Anita looked surprised. “The other Chris?” she asked.

“He told me about your parents. I asked because the other day when we talked about this, James was all ‘hell yes you in leather’ but you didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t even like driving. James bullied me into learning and getting a license, but it’s at home, gathering dust.”

They looked at people walking by for a while. Eventually, Cristian stood up and offered a hand to Ani, who took it. Cristian kissed it. “I saw Fede do that the other day and I thought it was adorable. I’m going to start doing it, to everyone.”

Ani laughed. “You do it to men, too. And film the reactions. I’m dying to see what a guy does when a guy who could kick his ass kisses his hand, all sweet.”

“That’s… evil. It’s a brand of bullying I never thought of,” laughed Cristian.

“I hang out with teenagers, it rubs off on you,” said Ani.

They turned on Defensa Street, and started walking south, only stopping to drop a kiss on Mafalda’s head when they crossed Chile street.

-

“Ani thinks he’s not interested in her in any other way”.

“She may be right,” said Fede.

“I think he likes her.”

“You may be right,” said Christian the bartender.

“I think he like…likes her. Like a lot”

“You may be right,” said Juli.

“I’m going to fire you all.”

“Please do,” said someone from the kitchen.

“Do you think they could like… you know…”

“I think you care too much,” said Fede.

“She’s my …. My Ani.”

“We know.”

“And he’s like…”

“… like what?” asked Fede eventually.

“Like… perfect,” said Christian the bartender.

“A prince. He’s like a prince,” said Juli.

James nodded. “He’s like a prince. Oh fuck, of course. They are going to marry and have children and I’m going to be the crazy uncle who never brings the same date over twice.”

“I may or may have not told the guy I had a thing for Ani,” Cristian the bartender grinned, and chuckled at James’ horrified face.

“You also let him think you had been harassed. You are an asshole,” said Fede.

“Wait, he left thinking you were traumatized by a little groping and not because we all laughed at your squeaking?” asked James.

“I hope he doesn’t give a fuck and comes back married to her,” said Juli.

James laughed.

-

When they arrived at the bar, Ani dropped the folder on a table, and sat down. James sat down opposite her, and Cristian stood to go to the bar.

James heard Cris say something along the lines of “Can I talk to you, when you have a minute?” to Christian the bartender, and he tried very hard not to jump to conclusions. He watched them go outside on the corner of his eye. “That’s a lot of papers,” he said to Ani.

“It’s a lot of…stuff,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m not going to think about this anymore until tomorrow.” She smiled and unlocked her phone.

James watched the two Cristians talk outside. He looked at Ani. “Do you know what that’s about?,” he asked.

She looked over. “Bikes, I think,” said Ani, who was scrolling down her phone and looking extremely disinterested.

“And?” asked James.

“Mm?”

“You know…”

Anita looked at him, rolled her eyes and smiled. “You’re obsessed with him, for god’s sake.” She sat up. “Oh my god, do you like him?”

“Oh, please.”

Anita laughed. “He’s like, super cool, James. Drop this.” She went back to her phone.

“Nothing, uh?”

She shook her head with a smile. “If I ever see him naked, you’ll be the first to know.” She didn’t even stop scrolling.

-

“You're such a nerd. Don't start anything new, Jesus. I forbid it, actually," said James. "You’ll have more free time, we can hang out more. Live a little.” 

Ani is making pros and cons lists of all the possibilities she’s looked into. “It’s not a bad idea. I could teach you French if I have time….”

“I think this degree, what’s this, and MB?... in English literature, of all things. Perfect for you. It starts late March,” says James. “Attendance Fridays and Saturdays, two years long. Public University. You should take the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mafalda is a beloved cartoon character, created by Quino, who died on the day I post this. Mafalda and her friends lived in San Telmo.  
> Part of a street exhibit of cartoon characters in real life-size, there's indeed a statue of Mafalda sitting on a bench at the interesection of streets Defensa and Chile (technically not San Telmo but Montserrat, but the heart of the neighborhood). Tourists and locals alike sit next to her to take pictures.
> 
> Public education is an old tradition in Argentina. It's perfectly possible to get degrees without spending a single cent in tuition costs, and the most prestigious universities are indeed public-run. Cristian, for example, is a rich boy and studied at the UBA.


	5. Los informales y el calor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cristian has two weeks off, and he uses them to paint his whole apartment.  
> With a little help of new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Los formales y el frío" is a poem by Mario Benedetti. But these three are not formal in any way, and it's still hot in Buenos Aires.

The following days, Cristian would drop by at the bar mid-afternoon, eat something quickly and go off again, only to drop by at night, looking tired. He’d eat something, chat or just hang out for a while, and then he’d be off again.

James was glad but also a little stunned at how quickly everyone seemed to have taken to Cristian, and viceversa. It was like he’d always been there, among them. With Anita, James felt for the first time what it must be for other people to see her with James. Fast conversations where anyone would find non-sequiturs, but it was just the way they spoke. Easy laughter, and familiarity. Anita was almost as affectionate with Cristian as he was with him, which he found slightly uncomfortable first, but day after day, it invited him to reach out to Cristian more.

Cristian yawned and stretched every time he went outside to smoke these days. One day James asked him. “Cris, do you need a hand?”

Cristian raised one eyebrow at him. “What? You want to help me paint my kitchen?” he asked.

James looked positively offended. “I’ll have you know that I can totally use a brush. But I won’t now because that implication was so mean. Jesus.”

Cristian chuckled.

“What I meant is we could bring you food if you don’t feel like coming out here. You look dead on your feet, Cris.”

Cristian sighed. “I am. And the place doesn’t look any better.”

“That can’t be true,” said James.

“Yeah, no. You’re right. It does look a lot better. I’m just tired.”

James sat next to him to see the pictures that Cristian volunteered. “This place is a mess, Cris, shame on you,” he said.

“Punk.” said Cristian. He was sprawled against the backrest, head on his hand. “It’s all mine, that mess.” He had a tired grin on his face, that James recognized as the proud smile of a new home owner.

“Congratulations, Cris,” said James, sincerely. He opened Cristian’s contacts and added his own phone there. “Text me, I mean it. Worst case scenario I’m not here, or I can’t help. But if I can, I’ll drop by and bring you sustenance.”

-

Cristian had barrelled into their lives and had seemed to settle in seamlessly. The guy was gorgeous, and nice, and it was impossible not to appreciate him in every way. So Anita might have a bit of a crush on him. Apparently everyone developed a bit of a crush on Cristian upon meeting him, anyway, if everyone at the bar, and James even, were any proof.

But Cristian didn’t seem to be flirting, and sometimes Anita felt it was easier this way, to talk to him, knowing that there were no expectations to fulfil.

She’d had practice galore, keeping things platonic. She found in her heart that she didn’t mind it much, with Cristian. With Cristian everything seemed easy.

It had been hard work, with James.

The bond between them had shifted inevitably under the weight of the circumstances every time the circumstances seemed to crush them, and they had always managed to navigate them as best they could.

They’d met in secondary school, days before James had turned 15. They’d started dating almost immediately, and were together through everything that had happened to each: James’ dad dying a couple months after the whole debacle that had broken their family, James’ choice to change his last name, James coming out, their own break-up, Anita’s grandpa’s death, Anita being under the legal guardianship of James’ mum, Anita living with them, until Anita had left for the UK, leaving her ex-boyfriend as tenant in her grandfather’s old studio. Packing up to move abroad had been a worse nightmare than what their lives together had turned into.

The distance had slowly worked a new way of communicating, and eased the awkwardness when Anita visited. Moving back to the country, and into James’ house had felt natural, especially after the platonic was beaten into shape through honest conversations and negotiations. It was their greatest joy, the life they shared. Not like siblings, but still a family. Not like two halves of a whole, but a unit.

After James, Anita had had three romantic relationships long enough to merit the name. Only one lasted over a year, and all three she had ended without much drama and with no regrets whatsoever.

She thought of Cristian, and the texts with small talk, and deep talk. She thought of the shared time at the bar, or when they arranged to do something together. She thought of James and how he seemed taken with Cristian as well.

She liked him. And she was happy to keep him in their lives. He just…. fit.

-

“Cris texted me, and I quote, kind of: I swear I saw him save it into this very phone, but I’m either stupid or inhaled too much paint and I can’t find James’ number,” Ani said around 9pm. “He says he has paint on his hair, and is inviting us to bring him dinner.”

James frowned, confused. Then he remembered. “I saved it under ‘Punk’,” he grinned.

A minute later his phone pinged with a text from an unknown number. “You’re a jerk. Bring dinner and maybe I won’t push you out of the window”.

So they went, arms loaded with boxes with Cris’ favourite fries and chicken fingers and burgers for all three of them, a couple of bottles of wine, and three bottles of Fernet. It was a mismatched menu, and James initially wrinkled his nose when Ani suggested they bring Fernet. James had never taken to it. He served it to patrons with distrust, as if it would melt the glass and the table and the floor, and conjure demons from its thick foam. Not because of the alcohol, but the sheer foulness of its flavour. To this day, it didn't make any sense to him how a country with such good wines had taken to such unholy syrup from hell. But Cristian was one of those who loved that char-like concoction that's the worst that the Italians brought into the country with the immigration waves.

One of the bottles they gave to Oscar, the neighbour from Cristian's building who was a patron at the bar, whom they had known for years since he used to come over for a chat and a Fernet with Hugo when they were a couple of teenagers.

Oscar let them into the building, so they rang directly on Cris’ apartment door. He looked freshly showered and wearing pyjama pants and a t-shirt. He was barefoot and he was holding a bottle of wine himself, which he gave to James with a corkscrew, in favour of preparing fernet drinks for himself and Ani. He looked happy to have them over, which James thought was adorable, considering his place was a work in progress. The way he hugged Ani made James wonder if that thing he felt was a pang of jealousy or if he just wanted a hug like that.

The apartment wasn’t huge, or anything special, but Cris looked so proud of it, it was impossible not to share in the glee. It opened onto a short hallway wide enough for a side table and hangers opposite the kitchen door. The kitchen was U-shaped, where only one person could operate comfortably, and it had room for all the necessary appliances, and little more. The main area was big enough for a small table for six that Cristian hoped would arrive in the next few days, and a living room where Cris’ queen-sized bed would be until he finished painting the room with the bigger wardrobe.

That was to the side, past an archway that led to a hallway. The first door to the left was the future office, now packed with boxes and old furniture. Then there was the bathroom, and Cris’ bedroom, which still smelled of fresh paint.

“I’m hoping to move back in there tomorrow,” said Cris.

“White?” asked James. “I was expecting something more architect-y,” he said with undisguised disappointment.

“I have a lot of stuff, that’ll give the place colour.” Cristian even sounded tired, James noticed.

It looked a lot more like an apartment where a normal person lived than the photos James had seen. The kitchen and bathroom Cris had professionals deal with, but the living-room and two bedrooms he sanded, primed, and painted himself, which explained the exhaustion. The whole place looked pristine, and ready to be filled with furniture, and life.

“You are such a weird type of architect who actually knows how to do stuff,” James rolled his eyes. “Neither of us are thinking about abusing your talents at home,” he winked.

“Oh my god, you can see my school from here!” said Ani from the balcony, and Cris went to stand next to her. He was over a head taller than her, and she looked up to him to show him what she was pointing at. “That over there is the kindergarten wing,” she said. “Ok, it’s dark now. But check tomorrow. No, wait,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ll send you a photo of your balcony, like a creep.”

Cris looked at her and laughed, and James thought that if Ani didn’t marry this guy, James would literally think less of her.

James was teased about his dislike of heights, when he didn’t want to look out the balcony, or even see Ani or Cris anywhere near it.

“I never liked heights. I’ve always lived on the ground floor, and I don’t plan to change that,” he tried to explain.

“Tell him the truth. Tell him what you think about humans and heights,” prod Ani.

“It’s against our nature!” he blurted out. “If God had wanted us to enjoy heights, we wouldn’t live on the ground, where you cannot fall anywhere”.

Cristian snorted. “What about mountains? Cliffs? Didn’t you grow up in a place with actual mountains?”

“Oh, fuck off, Cristian,” sputtered James. “Just… shut up”.

Anita wept with laughter, and Cristian wrapped an arm around James, unable to stop the cackling.

“Fuck you both. I hope you fall off that very balcony together. I’ll be downstairs with my spatula ready to gather your remains”.

They sat on the floor, and ate, and drank three bottles of wine after the initial drinks James refused to touch. They talked, and laughed. Ani toasted to new beginnings, and again Cris looked at her in a way that made James want to shake Ani and show her that he, James, was not mad; that Cristian did not have platonic feelings for her, at all.

By the time James was leaning against the side of Cristian's bed too comfortably, and Anita started having trouble completing sentences, and Cris was taking too long to open his eyes after blinking, while leaning his full upper body on the wall, they said their goodbyes and left.

On the slow way back to the bar, James slurred a little. “He’s so into you, Ani. I can see him imagining having babies with you,” he teased.

Ani giggled. “That’s a ridiculous sentence. Also, I’m not going to have any babies,” she said.

“He can probably buy them already made,” said James, which sent them both into a drunken fit of laughter that didn’t stop until Christian the bartender made them sit down in the corner like misbehaved children.

“You’re grown-ups, for crying out loud,” said Christian the bartender, pushing bottles of water in James and Anita’s hands. “Drink that. I’m going to kill the architect”.


	6. Sin pedir permiso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses at the San Telmo market

March 4th, 2015

Cris walked all the way from his office building, his mind on the situation ahead of him today. His place didn’t smell like fresh paint anymore, and it finally looked like a home, and his parents were coming to visit today.

He wanted, so hard, not to give a fuck, but the truth is he wanted them to be impressed, nevermind how much that fact annoyed him. There was no way to achieve that by the sheer force of a small two-bedroom apartment he’d only been able to afford because it was too close to the highway. Anything else in San Telmo these days would have required touching money he was trying very hard not to think of. But he could try to imprint himself on it hard enough that they’d at least leave knowing he belonged there, like he’d never belonged anywhere else.

He felt he belonged there.

It had washed over and cocooned him like a warm blanket, that feeling of being home: The first had been the first night he'd slept there, his bed the only functioning piece of furniture, and the only open box that of the bedsheets. He’d made his bed, lied in it, and slept soundly until the following morning, when he opened the windows to the noise of the highway, and the kids from the school at the back of his block. The second time was sitting on the floor, sharing dinner with Anita and James, surrounded by the smell of fresh paint, and the tingling cosy feeling he had for his new friends.

After that, once he’d finished moving furniture around with the occasional help of James and Cristian the bartender, he’d allowed Anita to bully him into making the invitation to his life-long friends that very weekend, before knowing for a fact that the place was ready for visits.

“Are they awful friends?” she’d asked. “Then I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see the place even with your underwear hanging from the doorknobs”.

Mati and Amelia had, indeed, been elated to finally see the new place. Amelia brought Cai, who had sniffed the new couch and decided it was good enough for a nap, which made Amelia giggle with delight because she had helped choose the upholstery. Mati was, as usual, not entirely himself around Amelia, but managed to say he was disappointed that now that he, originally from La Boca, had moved to the other side of the city, Cristian was “the southern one”.

They hadn’t minded that half the new chairs still had film around its legs, or that the curtains were missing. In fact, they’d been happy to help with the seemingly never-ending chores of a new place. They toasted to hanging the curtains together, and to leaving the dining table looking better than when they’d arrived.

Which had prompted today.

His parents were not going to help him move furniture, or hang curtains, and he’d be lucky if they even asked about his life, beyond whether he was seeing someone. After Amelia, that conversation had been a hit and miss at best, and a recount of the number of years it was since they’d broken up and remained close friends. For the occasion, still, Cris had put away the frames with pictures where she appeared, so that they wouldn’t prod him, or then go and harass her.

He was thinking about the people he’d met recently, who had proved so dependable and reliable in such a short time. James seemed to be a hurricane of energy that never dwindled. Anita had a calming demeanor that maybe balanced whatever relationship they had, which seemed to work like clockwork.

He must have conjured her with her mind, because there she was, when he walked into the market through the entrance on Estados Unidos street and made his way across to where the stand with the dreamy-like croissants was.

She was at that stand that is half sandwich restaurant, half spices and delicacies store, browsing bags of spices, bringing some close to her face to smell them with her eyes closed, and Cristian could swear he could tell exactly how much to her liking each was, just by the lines of her forehead. Cristian stood and watched her pick up one thing and then another, make her choice, and put those on the counter next to a big bottle of what looked like soy sauce. After a minute, or fifty, she went to the counter, paid, and put everything away in her bag. 

It should have been weird, watching her when she wasn’t looking. But it had warmed Cristian in a way that reminded him how quickly he’d laughed at her muttered remarks and her sarcastic, unassuming sense of humour. It had made him immediately feel a strange familiarity, if there was such a thing. They were, to all of Cristian’s parameters, still strangers, but it still felt like he belonged there by her side while she did something as mundane as buying a bottle of soy sauce, the way she’d belonged in his apartment while he moved stuff around with James and Cristian the bartender, and there with him, while talking about the past and the future, the nonsense and the important.

When she was done, she turned and saw him watching, and a smile spread on her face. She walked the few steps until she was in front of him, and he just leaned and kissed her on the lips, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

She didn't startle. She smiled into the kiss and returned it. 

Which was good because it was exactly then that he noticed what he had done.

“Hello,” he stopped to say, and then leaned in again to deepen the kiss, but someone coughed, interrupting. 

“Sorry. You left this on the counter,” said the boy from the shop, and handed Anita a bottle.

She thanked him and then looked at Cristian. “I am going to blame you for distracting me,” she said with a huge grin, knowing full well that the order of the facts wouldn't match in her defence. “What are you doing here?”

There should have been butterflies and tension. But there was only genuine, undiluted joy of seeing her and stealing a moment together. He entwined their fingers together, and they walked towards the croissant shop. Cristian told her about expecting his parents to drop by his apartment later today and knew he’d be lucky if they stayed for a cup of coffee, so he wanted to have the best the neighbourhood had to offer. When they had finished their shopping, Cristian insisted on sitting down together for a cup of coffee.

Once they sat and placed an order, Cristian studied Ani, who was quiet, waiting for him to say something. He knew he was staring, but right now he didn't care. For some time now, he'd been catching himself and looking away when he thought she'd notice. He still didn't quite understand how this happened so fast, but was beginning to quit scrutinizing it. He expected a surge of panic, or something, but nothing came. Her hand in his felt like coming home, instead of something new.

"I'm a bit…" said Ani, and hid her face behind their joined hands. Her eyes looked huge, and full of questions.

"I know." He kissed her knuckles, and after a while he elaborated. "I think I have been like, crazy thinking about you like this all the time since… I don't even know. I just… Am I confusing you? I mean I--,“ he pointed to their joined hands.

Anita smiled. “I'm not confused I'm just… surprised, I think."

Cristian kissed her again. “I like you, Ani. But I haven’t done this for a long time, and I hadn’t really realized I wanted this so much until now.”

When the whispered conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their coffees, they shook themselves off their bubble, and sat close together, still hand in hand.

“I did notice you tend to dodge the topic. What’s with your family?” asked Anita.

Cristian sighed. “My parents are…. not thrilled with me, in general. We’re so different I swear if it wasn’t because both Juan Martín and I look the spitting image of my dad, I’d wonder if we’re even related.”

“You have two brothers, right?”

Cris nodded. “Juan Martin is five years older than me. He lives abroad, in Norway now. Then there’s Bautista, three years younger.”

“What are they like?”

“Juanma is… cool. We talk. He left and never came back.”

“And the younger one?”

“Ah….aaan idiot,” he said, and immediately snorted. Anita joined him, and they giggled together like naughty kids. “He’s my dad at 24. An asshole, really”

“I have no family, and sometimes I hear about families that make my inexistent one look like a blessing,” she said, laughing the kind of laughter that is tilted with guilt.

"You have James, right? You two are… like family. Right?"

Ani nodded, and ran her fingers through his hair. Cris leaned into it, and almost purred with pleasure.

"He and his mum are the closest to a family I have. I was four when my parents died, I barely remember them. I was raised by my granddad, who died when I was seventeen. James’ mum was my guardian until I turned eighteen”

“Wait. James' mom became your guardian?” he asked, in awe.

She nodded. “For a couple of months” 

“Was that before or after…”

“It was after we’d broken up. Nothing untoward there!” They laughed together again, which seemed, again, like an act of nature.

“I’m sorry, Ani”.

“It’s fine. It’s harder to hear the whole tragic story than it is for me to tell it, I promise”

They stared into each other's eyes for a while. Anita leaned in to kiss him, and Cris sighed into it. 

"I wasn't expecting any of this," she said.

"Really?" He asked. “I thought it was so obvious that I felt this…. pull towards you.”

"James is going to be smugly delighted--". Her eyes narrowed with anticipated annoyance. “Can we keep it secret forever? I hate telling him he’s right”

"He did notice didn’t he?” asked Cris. Ani’s face said he did. Cris felt a flush creep up his face. “Did he give you a hard time?”

"Not after I told him to drop it for real. But he did say… repeatedly”

"What's the story between you two, Ani? I thought you were a couple when I first met you, then you weren't but you're so close. I almost wished you were, until I started… you know”

Anita's sigh was almost imperceptible. "We were, when we were in high school. We were... absolutely inseparable for three years. Then a lot of shit happened, we broke up, I went abroad. Then I came back and… we are what we are now. We have a history and… He’s always a problem for my love life,” she finished with a chuckle, a lot heavily implied there. “But not for the reasons people think. I have a life with him, but people always stop at handsome ex cannot be friends. It’s annoying because life is complicated and there’s a lot to relationships, and when they don’t fit exactly into whatever people’s ideas are, somehow they feel free to tell you what the truth about your own life is.”

Cristian could hear his own voice in hers. To say he agreed enthusiastically would fall short. To explain himself would take time, and he was hoping he’d had plenty in the future. He didn’t think of James as a threat, starting by the fact that he also was best friends with his ex. He’d start there.

“Let’s see.” Cristian leaned on his side and took out his phone. He pulled Instagram. “This is Amelia. She’s one of my best friends in the world.”

Anita’s eyes went wide. “Wow... Is this a 'My friend is more stunning than yours' contest?”

Cris nodded. "That, she is. She’s also awesome. And, she’s my ex-girlfriend."

Anita stared at him. Then bursted out laughing. “Cris, you have a James!”

“I don’t… wait. I was going to protest that I don’t live with her, but I might ask her to move in, if that gets me my dog back, now that I think about it,” Cris mused.

He'd picked Cai from under his parked car one evening coming back from the Independiente stadium in Avellaneda, almost a decade ago. He was living alone for the first time, and still dating Amelia. Cai is now old, and Cris worried he’d suffer being alone all day locked in a small apartment when he moved.

“Aww, and she offered to keep him?”

“She offered to look after him while I settled. I thought she’d give him back once I was properly moved in. You know, when I could get someone to walk him when I was out all day… And now she won’t give him back. She spoiled him silly. She takes him with her everywhere. He sleeps with her under the blankets, she lets him do whatever.”

Anita found his protests hilarious, apparently, because she laughed at him instead of sympathizing. He shoved her shoulder slightly. “I’m kind of reconsidering us, already, if you’re going to side with her.”

She didn’t seem to take it too seriously. “Come on, there are no sides. Ok, fair. You said ONE of your best friends. The other is…. What? your ex-wife? You have a custody battle over the hamster?”

“Mati would let me have the damn hamster,” he muttered. He pulled his gallery and showed her a picture in which Cristian is in the background of a selfie, focused on a barbecue, the foreground a green-eyed skinny guy with a mop of dark hair, making a face. “This is him.”

“That’s cute. He makes you cook for him?”

“Yes, he’s an asshole”.

“Smart guy, keeping friends who can cook. Why do you think I put up with James? Why do you think I come here to do his shopping? It’s because I’m going to enjoy whatever he's going to do with this bottle of sauce. Otherwise, I’d live alone.”

“That’s an awful thing to say, poor guy!”

“Oh my god, you are not supposed to side with him!”

“What happened to ‘there are no sides’? Remind me not to ever leave you alone with Amelia.”

“Why? What is she going to tell me?”

“Only good things. She’s still my friend, remember?”

“That’s not fair. Oh God, when James meets her…”

“He’s going to bounce like a ball,” he said too fast. “I’m rooting for Mati there,” he said quickly. Anita was definitely going to agree with him in regards to Amelia’s love life. If that failed he knew James would. But that was for another time, and not his story to tell.

Anita snorted, and shook her head. “Jesus. Cris…. This is a lot of information to take in at once.” She gave him his phone back.

Cris relented. He went back to entwining their fingers together, and kissing her knuckles. “Are you free tomorrow evening?” he asked with his lips still on Ani’s fingers. “There’s a very boring event I have to attend. I could use your company”.

“I knew there was a catch.”

\- 

“So it wasn’t a bad thing that you invited your parents over, after all,” said Mati on the speaker. “Are you freaking out?”

Cristian was putting away his groceries. He stopped mid-movement. “You know, I’m not. This is… good, actually.”

Mati laughed. “Good first kiss then?”

Cristian beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title "Sin pedir permiso" translates as "without asking for permission"
> 
> "Me besó sin pedir permiso y a mí me pareció la gloria. Le devolví el beso con hambre atrasada"  
> Mario Benedetti, Cleopatra


	7. Mi Buenos Aires querido

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cristian is an architect. As such, he's not above going weak at the knees when faced with one of these.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: people have sex in this chapter. Nothing explicit, but it's ... *gesticulates wildly* right there.

March 30th, 2015

The first time Cristian went to the house, it was dark already, and his attention was otherwise occupied, what with his tongue in Ani’s mouth and his hands stripping her naked. His mind was, probably, obliquely aware that it was better if they didn’t leave a trail of clothes, but he wouldn’t bet serious money that they hadn’t. They made it to the living room which required climbing a couple of steps, and later climbed yet more steps to Ani’s bedroom. It was morning when Ani busted their bubble in the middle of lovemaking.

“Shhh Oh my god” she giggled. “We are not alone anymore!”

“Oh shit, sorry! How thick are these walls? Can he hear us?,” Cristian asked between giggles himself. “Sorry, I forgot about him.”

“Window’s open,” she managed while Cristian manhandled her onto her back. “Bathroom-- window’s, right below.” She moaned, loud.

“Ok, then lower your voice,” Cristian whispered, his voice not betraying the slightest strain when the bed complained noisily enough.

Later, Ani started a description of the house from her bedroom’s point, that Cristian tried his best to follow.

“That balcony has his bathroom window right below,” she explained. “Ugh I’m going to get a lot of shit for this”

Cristian cuddled against her side and closed his eyes. “He does? Usually?”

“Mmm. He’s probably going to ask questions about your dick, mostly, because he’s obsessed with it".

Cristian opened his eyes and pushed onto his elbow to raise an eyebrow at her. 

“He has theories.” She grinned at him. “Actually everybody does. I had to put my foot down the day he and Fede were talking about setting security cameras all over the house if I didn’t… share. I didn’t. Be proud.”

Cristian plopped on the mattress again, and shoved a pillow onto his face, trying to hide the growing blush. “Oh my god”.

“I’m not defending him but he’s not alone. You are the new guy, after all.” She said to the pillow. “Hey, maybe he’s not alone and that they keep him distracted?”

“We should have made it a couple more blocks to my place,” he managed under the pillow. Then dropped the shy act. “What's the protocol now? If there’s someone with him".

“Niceties and all that, but I don’t even bother learning their names anymore.”

"That bad?"

"He doesn't pretend he wants a relationship with anyone. I'll tell you about his thing with lying another day, remind me. But basically it's a parade of different people. Nobody lasts"

“And you?” 

Ani curled one eyebrow. “What are you asking?”

He took her hand and entwined their fingers together. “I’m asking if you want this, with me." He beamed at her. “Because, just in case I wasn’t obvious enough, I’m kind of crazy about you. I want to make that very clear”.

Anita bit her lips to hide the schoolgirl beam. “I like you very much, too”

They stayed cuddled together until they got hungry and the need for the bathroom was becoming pressing.

He wasn’t ready to fall in love twice in the last 24 hours, really. But the moment he left the bedroom, he felt a sudden rush of respect for James and whoever was responsible for this. 

The house was an old upcycled chorizo house, so much he could tell from outside. Very common in Buenos Aires, these houses were usually built on one side of a lot, one room after another, sometimes built as the family was able to afford the materials, which resulted in a string of rooms that went out to the open area, each joined to the next by an internal door. The open area was traditionally wide enough for the carriages to leave their merchandise in the kitchen, which was at the back. Like bathrooms, they were separated from the rest of the house before interior plumbing allowed them inside. The resulting house was a sequence of rooms with no internal hallway to connect them. To go from one room to another, you either had to go outside, or use the internal doors, which connected every room. Some of these constructions were lost to the low-quality materials, but in San Telmo used to live some of the wealthiest families of the city. Their houses had reception areas that showed off the family wealth with the latest architectural trends. The yellow fever outbreak in the 1870s saw rich people leave the southern part of the city in favour of the northern parts, where they still gravitate towards in the 21st century. The south was then reserved for working classes, but the general charm of areas like San Telmo, with its cobbled streets and narrow sidewalks, along with convenient distance to the city centre, quickly brought about gentrification, and some of those old houses had undergone pricey upcycling processes that made them coveted properties today.

Such was James and Anita’s house. Cris knew it was a cliché to love old buildings and their vintage details, but he wasn’t above admitting that he was crazy about them. He’d been otherwise occupied last night, but the revelation of the house in the light of day was enough to make his jaw drop.

“I’m in love with this entrance hallway,” sighed Cristian. 

The main door at the level of the street was a wooden door, the carved type, like hundreds of others in the area, and the rest of the city. There was a staircase and then another wooden set of French doors that opened onto the entrance hall. The reception area held only a set of two chairs and a side table. There was a door to a closet-sized studio, and a short staircase that led downstairs to the garage. It was beautiful, and he understandably had missed it all last night. But the fact that Cristian had completely missed the colonial partition wall made of iron and yellow and translucent glass with the patio as backdrop could only be excused by the urgency to undress Ani, because now he was stunned by the sheer simple beauty of it.

“This could easily be a century old.” said Cristian.

“Probably more,” said Anita. “I’ll ask James’ mom if you want to know more.”

“I’d love that,” he said. 

The patio was a rectangular open area, mainly grey concrete on the wall that faced the house, and the rest of it painted immaculate white, which accentuated the original mouldings of the colonial house. It had a modern water feature and greenery that looked low-maintenance and well-kept. The gallery was concrete floors with encrusted stone circles scattered in groups of three that resembled bubbles. On the long wall of the patio, two French doors connected the patio to the main room. 

The main room had three separate areas: at the front, with a window onto the sidewalk outside, there was the elevated living room area where there was the couch they had defiled last night. There was a Tv screen on the opposite wall that Cristian hadn’t even noticed the night before, a piano and other string instruments that must be James’, and a large bookcase, a sofa and several small ottoman chairs, testimony of Ani’s presence in the space.

“The garage is below. That’s why that area is elevated. The rest of the house was built over elevated ground already, surely to avoid the floods entering the house,” explained Ani. “This way, if there’s a flood, and there hasn’t been any in years, fortunately, the only area that would actually get water would be the garage”.

The elevated area was connected to the dining area by a set of three steps he’d almost tripped with again. Whatever there was in the dining area, all he could see was a vintage wooden dining set, presided by the famous ugly tapestry that Cristian agreed was… ugly. 

“Look at it. Really, look at it. It has got to be a joke, Cris!” Ani laughed.

“James’ mum is like your mum right?” he asked.

Ani said yes.

“It’s a beautiful gift. She must love her children very much,” he said with his perfect prince charming smile.

The kitchen area was separated from the dining by a curved wall on which the metallic steps to Ani's quarters were embedded. The stairs ended on the catwalk that led to the bathroom first, which hovered on the kitchen like it was hanging from the ceiling, then the opening onto the kitchen, and ended at Ani’s bedroom door. To the side there was another staircase that led to the laundry room upstairs, and finally the roof, where there was a barbecue and an awning. “A work in progress," said Ani.

“Oh, I see why I’m here then!” Cristian joked.

“You caught me. You are going to have to work for the next one,” she winked.

“Worth it,” he grinned. 

The kitchen was simple. A U-shaped worktop that ended in a small table placed as a peninsula, with three chairs, because there wasn’t room for anything else. 

The whole main room had been stripped of its ceiling to show off the original brick vaulted one above. Nobody did these anymore. 

“What do I get to show you my bedroom’s ceiling?” chimed James from behind them, while they were making coffee and exchanging kisses and giggles.

Cristian didn’t even see him when he turned, because James was standing right in front of the famous glass hallway he had heard of, and completely forgotten about. Cristian hadn’t been able to quite imagine what a glass hallway was, exactly. He left his mug on the counter and walked with his eyes glued behind James until he was standing right in front of him. 

The back of the lot housed James’ quarters, which had once been a kitchen and exterior bathroom and laundry, separated from the main house. Only a set of French doors connected it to the patio. While the doors were still there, the room was now joined to the main building by a short hallway built entirely of glass. The panel on the left had a view of the patio, the opposite was also glass, but had a door that opened to a tiny patio with stones and plants that tolerate the shade. On the far wall there was a high window that was probably James’ ensuite, and, looking up, a balcony that was surely Ani’s bedroom’s. The high, double height ceiling was cut short by a glass roof. 

“Before you ask, yes. Cleaning it is a bitch,” James piped.

“Worthiest I’ve ever seen. This is beautiful, James” Cristian sighed in awe, standing in the middle of the glass enclosure looking onto the patio. “This house… becomes you. Beautiful house for beautiful people,” he beamed at James, sincere awe in his face. 

“If you walk further in, you--”

“Give him a couple of weeks, James” Ani laughed. “It’s rude to lure architects into your bedroom in the morning”.

“My girlfriend here is also your… friend?” Cristian started, walking past James into the kitchen again. “Ani, what exactly did I get myself into here, again?,” he brought his mug to his lips.

“Friend is fine. If he behaves,” Ani raised her eyebrows at James, who grinned. “He’ll be demoted to room-mate if he doesn’t”.

James put a hand on his heart. “Wow! what is this? You are ganging up against me? Already?”

“Don’t get all stroppy. Here, drink your coffee,” said Cristian, and handed James a mug.

“This is empty,” complained James, but Anita was already pouring him fresh coffee from the pot. And then Cristian handed him a teaspoon. James walked to the counter where the sugar bowl was, narrowing his eyes at them.

“Alright, you can see my bedroom and I promise I won’t try to grope you,” James recited like a good boy. “Too much,” he added in a whisper that everybody heard. He grinned.

Cris chuckled. At least he didn’t straightaway ask about his dick.

It was a far better Sunday than he would have dared imagine. 

-

He’s prince charming mum 

Tall, broad, nice, he’s hot as hell, and smart, too

And he’s like, CRAZY about her

I feel I can hear your voice over text, darling, and you are drooling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are SO welcome.


	8. Amelia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia brings Cai over for dinner, and meets Anita.

April 18th, 2015

The expression on Cristian’s face must have been hilariously outraged. He could tell, because it took two seconds for his girlfriend and ex-girlfriend to snort and roll her eyes, respectively. So what if his hair grows out in curls, when he lets them? It hadn’t happened for a decade, and he was proud he now lived closer to the barber’s he’d been faithful to for over six years now, and he’d kept his hair very short ever since.

“Your hair has gorgeous waves. So does yours,” he said to them in turn, while Cai slept on his lap. “You don’t need mine.”

They both stared.

Amelia started. “You have seen me bitching about getting my fingertips burned with the curler, Cristian,” she said, suddenly turning back into the young woman Cristian had decided he didn’t want to voluntarily hang out with anymore, all those years ago. 

Anita spoke at the same time. “You don’t really think my hair is naturally like this, do you?” her hand leaving his to stroke Cai’s head.

At least his current girlfriend pretended to care about his relationship with her hair. He wasn’t sure she cared more about that or Cai, to be honest.

Amelia’s phone with the old photos lied forgotten on the table while they both apologized for interrupting each other, and then went on speaking over each other and following two different conversations about how clueless he is, and about curls, probably. When he’d hoped Ani and Amelia got along he didn’t mean this fast and this furiously. 

Cristian watched Ani while she listened to Amelia speak about something related to cabs, and traffic. He loves Ani’s hair. He loves the way the stray locks fall on the nape of her neck when she ties it in a knot and secures it with a pencil. He loves the way it fans out on the pillow when he has her on her back. He absolutely loves when she ties it up, but that could be mostly because of the glint in her eyes and the naughty smirk, knowing she’s about to make him make noises he’ll later deny.

Amelia has beautiful long hair, too. And he did remember the fingers burned, he sulked. He was sure it was a straightener anyway, and he found himself searching Amelia’s hairline for a scar he remembered thinking would be left. And it _was_ a straightener. He opened his mouth to protest again, but he didn’t think he knew what a curler looked like, anyway, so he didn’t speak, just in case.

Ani and Amelia moved on from traffic in Buenos Aires to talking about work. Cris narrowed his eyes at Amelia, who was explaining that she lived in Almagro and worked in Palermo, and while the distance wasn’t significant, sometimes it took her up to an hour to commute.

There was no need for her to live in Almagro when she could easily live around the corner from her office building in Palermo, thought Cris. He was mildly ashamed of his own stroppiness about this, and he briefly wondered if he could unload this particular bit on Ani, as well as other hang ups of his he’d already shared with her. 

Everything that was his to tell, he’d told Ani. But this was not his thing to tell.

Amelia had always been a top quality friend. She’s faithful, loyal and generous. Amelia said it was about Cai, her moving to the apartment with three bedrooms in Almagro instead of the modern one closer to where she works in Palermo. But Cristian was sure it’s about being close to her new friend and her child. It had been a year already, and Cristian was sure something else was going on between Amelia and this “friend” of hers. 

He’s not one to talk, he knows.

James crossed his mind. Suddenly he wished he was here. For some reason he was certain James would see right through Amelia and would be frank enough to ask directly. 

_Amelia, you sound a lot like you are not the token straight friend. Takes one to know one. Amelia, do you happen to have a crush on your new young single mom girlfriend, whom you have housed almost for free next-door to you, even if everything is inconvenient to you? Or are you just allowing a complete stranger to take advantage of you?_

Not that James would care about someone taking advantage of Amelia, but he could put words in an imaginary James’ mouth if he wanted, he wasn’t here.

The thought made him stall for a second. It was best if James does not actually have that laser eye into other people’s closets. But if he was right and Amelia had a thing for her new friend, that would mean she was his own version of Ani’s James. He smiled at the image of Amelia blatantly hitting on Ani, James-style.

“Does James help you with the… curling?” he found himself asking aloud, his gaze heavy on Ani’s eyes.

It took Ani a second to answer, and he knew she’d noticed the non-sequitur, he knows she caught that there’s a point to the random mention of James.

He’s proud. There’s no reason for that because it’s not like there’s a merit of his, but he’s proud anyway, of the way they seem to always be on the same wavelength. He’d told her, soon enough, that he loved her. Right now it didn’t seem necessary at all, for all he knew, they were married already.

“Oh, yeah. It’s one of those things we do together, actually. My hair,” said Ani. Her eyes settled back on Amelia.

“Who’s James?” asked Amelia.

Cristian stood and went into the kitchen for another bottle of wine.

“James is my best friend,” said Ani. “We live together. He’s like… well, he’s my Amelia,” she grinned.

“Not really, though—” Cristian said while filling all three glasses. “You and James live together, like…. you and Leti,” he said to Amelia.

Amelia’s eyes immediately got a glimmer at the mention of Leti, Ani must have noticed, too. 

“Who’s Leti?” she asked, and Cristian found himself sitting closer to her, and perking up to hear the answer.

“But do you and James live together? In the same apartment?” asked Amelia.

“No, it’s a house. His house. I just live there,” Ani chuckled.

“Oh, how nice!” exclaimed Amelia. “Is it one of those old houses Cris loves?”

“Yes. So who’s Leti, then? You don’t live together?” asked Ani, masterfully preventing Amelia from deflecting. Cris was going to propose tonight, he decided.

“No. We are neighbours.” Amelia began. “It’s a small building that belongs to my family, and I own three units. I live in one, and I rent out the other two. One of my tenants is Leti.”

“Is there an actual lease?” asked Cris. “I thought—"

Amelia groaned and rolled her eyes. “Yes, you know there is. I don’t know what your obsession is with her!”

“I just wonder why you just chose to move to Almagro with her, you barely know her.”

“I didn’t move in with her!”

“Cris,” interrupted Ani, “are you jealous?”

“Maybe,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at Amelia, a smirk on his face.

Amelia didn’t return it.

She sighed. “I know you think she’s taking advantage of me,” she said to him. Then she looked at Ani. “You probably think I’m stupid, considering he believes someone would be able to take advantage of me—”

Cristian’s smirk fell off his face. “No, Mel, I never—”

“I’m not, Cris,” she said to him. “Do I come across as naïve to you, Ani? You just met me,” she asked.

Ani smiled at her. When he spoke to Ani about Mel, he gushed unashamedly. He didn’t say it in so many words, but it had been heavily implied that her naiveness was the main reason they had managed to stay friends after their breakup. He’d tell Amelia everything one day, he knew. It wasn’t that Cris thought Amelia was naïve. Except that’s exactly what it was, and suddenly Cris became painfully aware that he didn’t deserve her friendship.

“I think you are very well aware of how you come across,” Ani told Amelia. “you are not trying to make any point to contradict that,” she raised her glass and swept it up and down Amelia’s. “ so that is probably a deliberate choice.” She took a drink. “You don’t have to tell me I’m right,” she winked at her.

Amelia smiled. Cris noticed a moment pass between them. 

Women.

Ani had these silent conversations with James sometimes. She’ll say something like “It’s June next month already” and he’ll reply after a couple of minutes with “I think they are closed on Mondays.” Cris had to ask to fill in the blanks. That particular one was that there was an ongoing argument about plants in the roof, something about planters and soil that needed buying, and how there were already four big planters on the patio downstairs that they hadn’t taken to the roof where the lemon tree had been surviving in the potting mix plastic bag for the last three years. 

Cris couldn’t stand things half done. He would have taken it onto himself to carry them to the roof, but in the last couple of months James had not been very welcoming. He’d turned into a girlfriend’s most civil best friend and room-mate, which felt oddly uncomfortable. 

Cris had dealt better with the inappropriate flirting than he was with so much civility.

But Amelia and Ani had just met, they had nothing in common but the fact that he loved them both, and they both loved him back, all nuances about kinds of love notwithstanding. Maybe it was the third bottle of wine they had just opened, but he could swear Ani had superpowers about people she didn’t know.

She and Mati had taken to each other like a house on fire. By the end of that afternoon, he was a little jealous and pretty sure they would have ended up together if he wasn’t in the picture. He smiled at the memory. That night he’d told Ani that he loved her, among other things, and they had emerged from that weekend as a couple instead of two people who were hooking up regularly and generally unable to stay away from each other for the last couple of months.

He’d been with Amelia for four years, and they had never been like that.

“Why are you with him, Ani? You seem to be smart,” Amelia said, a tipsy glare aimed at Cris. 

Ani leaned towards her, like she wanted to watch Cris from Amelia’s point of view. “What can I say, he’s gorgeous,” she said.

Amelia giggled. “Especially with an old dog asleep on his lap”

Cristian stopped in the middle of standing up while trying not to wake Cai. “with _my_ dog,” Cristian grinned, “Thief.” 

He gathered Cai in his arms and went to lie on the sofa, with Cai on his chest.

-

Cris was lying on the couch with Cai sprawled on him, stroking Cai like he was a baby. Ani watched Amelia look at them and turn to her. 

“Let me guess. He told you I spoil him silly,” said Amelia. 

Ani smiled and took a swing at her glass, eyebrows raised.

Amelia scoffed. “Unbelievable. He has the nerve to accuse me of spoiling him. Look at that. I hope you are ready to share your bed tonight,” she said.

They sat back down at the table. Cris was honest-to-god singing tunes to Cai while he slept, and he looked ready to fall asleep himself.

Amelia watched them. 

“He’s the best man you’ll ever find, Ani,” she said. “Sorry to badmouth your James like this, but he can’t compete.”

Ani studied her. “I know,” she said.

It was true. Even James knew it. 

She was dying to ask what the whole Leti issue was about. She was dying to ask her everything Cris had told her about Amelia, and Mati. Amelia and him hadn’t worked out because some things just happen, Cris had said, and sometimes they didn’t happen between Amelia and Cristian so that they could happen between Cristian and Anita. 

James crossed her mind. It had happened between them as well, with different results. Love was weird.

Amelia was by far the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in the flesh. She was tall and thin, and looked out of a fashion magazine even if she was wearing close to no make-up, her hair looked gorgeous even if it had been damp when she had arrived, and Ani could only dream of looking so attractive in black leggings, an oversized shirt and trainers.

“I don’t want to talk about Leti because Cris is pushy about it and I don’t want to argue with him,” she said in a low voice, the conversation obviously for themselves alone. “I know he means well but, it’s my life and he doesn’t get to interrogate me on any of it,” she said.

Ani considered her words carefully. “I have a whole life built with my highschool boyfriend, Mel,” she said. “I’m not exactly one to assume things about other people’s living arrangements.”

“May I ask?” said Amelia. “How does Cris take… all that?”

Anita turned and looked at Cris, his foot swinging in tune with the music on the stereo, his eyes closed and his arms around the dog on his chest. 

“I think that he’s one of the few people who understand the nature of my life with James. Probably because of you, actually.”

Amelia nodded. She was watching Cris, too, but her gaze looked distant. Perhaps it was the wine, but Ani could have sworn there were other things on her mind. After a moment, whatever seemed to cloud her gaze lifted, and she looked at Ani with bright eyes. “I’m torn here. Is this your teacher thing? That I want to tell you stuff?” she laughed.

“At this point, I’m not sure if tomorrow I’m going to remember whatever you tell me,” laughed Ani. “I hope you don’t find that offensive, that I’m saying this while pouring us both more wine”

Same as the time they went through four bottles of wine with James sitting on the floor where the couch was now, Ani had been wandering into tipsy territory after the first glass, and tipped on drunken one in the third.

Lightweight.

James said it was because her body was small and processing alcohol had something to do with body mass, apparently, but then he always found a way to bring up she was small, so whatever he said was neither here nor there.

Amelia didn’t seem affected, besides the fact that she was slightly slouching on her chair.

And waxing poetic about Leti.

-

An hour later, Cris snapped awake when Cai licked his face. He placed him on the floor and stood up. The table was cleared, and the kitchen door was closed.

When he opened, he found Ani and Amelia sitting on opposite sides of the counter, spoons in hand, going at a pot of icecream they must have ordered, and chatting animatedly. 

“Hey you’re awake!” said Ani. “We didn’t want to disturb you,” she said, “or you,” she said to Cai when he strutted in, and stood on two feet to sniff whatever was on the counter that the two humans were enjoying so much.

Amelia jumped off the counter and picked Cai in her arms, and spoke to him like he was a baby. “You’ll stay with your daddy tonight? Mm?” she said. “You’ll bring him tomorrow? I can come over and pick him up if you like,” she said to Cris.

Cris took two steps and hugged them both. Then he picked up Cai and faced Ani. “Ani, will you sleep with us tonight?” he said with his arms. 

Ani raised an eyebrow. “And that’s how you can tell love is love, and you cannot choose it,” she said, and Amelia laughed.

-

“But the world ended! There’s nobody else alive in the planet! Nobody else to have sex with!” James insisted, “you’re telling me that if you had to choose between this woman and never having an orgasm again—”

“You never said anything about not ever having an orgasm again!”

“Ok, fine. Between not being touched by another human being ever again, and exploring the possibility of getting off with this woman, who is, your words not mine, not only gorgeous but also nice and extremely likeable, you’d choose not to be touched by a human being ever again?”

“What can I say? I might go as far as a cuddle?”

“You’re lying. Nobody is that heterosexual, Ani.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAI is the acronym for Club Atlético Independiente, Cristian’s football club (soccer if you are from the US). It’s in the city of Avellaneda, right next to the city of Buenos Aires, past the La Boca area, where another club, Boca Juniors, is. This is why Cristian would rather move all the way out of the city to Avellaneda before ever moving to La Boca.  
> Independiente’s colour is red. Cristian looks amazing in red.


	9. No news is good news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are news of the worst kind. James is not good at coping, and future loneliness he'd been jokingly ranting about turns cold hard reality.

April 20th, 2015.

“He’s like, prince charming, mum. He’s tall, broad, he has those Italian-like brown eyes that you think can see your darker thoughts, and he’s hot as hell and he’s head over heels in love with her, so he’s no idiot, too.” James spoke in between sips to the mate Sarah had offered.

She nodded. “What are 'Italian-like brown eyes'?”

James pursed his lips, and then started gesticulating. “She’s going to marry this guy, mum! They’re going to have a dozen beautiful kids and I’m going to visit them at their house in a private neighbourhood in Pilar. I’m gonna be the single uncle who never brings the same significant other twice”.

Sarah chuckled. “You are going to be an ideal uncle to drop the kids with when they want some alone time, like you are to your cousin. Which reminds me, have you spoken to her recently?”

James nodded. “Yeah! Last week. She dropped the kids with me because Mauro wanted to see the Avengers movie and patience is not a nerd virtue, apparently. As it turns out, I can totally handle a baby without Ani, so jot that down”.

“Malena is three,” Sarah pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

“And she’s going to be a percussionist. Didn’t show interest in the piano or the guitars so we played the pots and pans with wooden spoons. I couldn’t bring her to the bar to play the actual drums”.

Of a bunch of people whose relation to him he could barely follow, Laura was James’ favourite cousin some-number-of-times removed. Probably second. And for the last three years, James and Ani had been playing house babysitting Malena so that her mother and father could go catch a movie, or go to a restaurant alone. Ani had taken to teaching her all the bad words and James, all the noisy habits. Whenever Laura called a couple days after the babysitting duty, they blamed the other for every bad habit the baby had brought back home. Laura still trusted them with her first-born, for some unfathomable reason.

“It’s about time she had another baby. Male needs a sibling,” James walked into the kitchen.

“Are you rehearsing with me? This is the last one,” she said while sliding the mate towards James' empty chair.

“Someone has to do the dirty work, might as well be me,” he said while opening and closing drawers. “So, Laura are you already looking for the boy? You surely want to give Male a little brother, right?” he walked back onto the dining-room brandishing a pack of Opera and making a voice like an old meddling someone who speaks because it’s free.

“Don’t forget ‘it’d be selfish of you to leave her to grow up alone, sibling-less, that’d make you a bad mother,” Sarah chipped in.

“Can’t overdo it, mum. Has to be believable. ‘Male is already three years old, it’s better if they are not too far apart’” he recited with a mocking tone, while making a racket of filling the electric kettle and plugging it back on.

He leaned on the door frame with his arms crossed. "I'm going to throw that thing away and get you one respectable one with temp control".

They had their good laughs together, James and his mum. He was not embarrassed to admit that he was mom’s little boy, even if he had to share her with his ex-girlfriend. They had similar personalities, and they got along like a house on fire. They had always confided in each other about the deep and the superficial, and loved the same people, equally fiercely, so there was that, too.

Sarah had the mate wrapped in both hands. “Sit down, darling,” she said, a weak smile still lingering on her face. She sighed, and in a matter of three seconds James saw her eyes fill with tears. “I have something to tell you. It’s bad news”.

The last time Sarah had sat him down like this had been when she had given him the news of his estranged father’s death, and there was no love lost that day. It had been all business: “James, darling, news came that your father died in a freak accident. Something about a shower and a faulty electric… something," she'd said waving a dismissing hand in the air. "I don’t know. No, wait, I don’t care. Anyway there’s money for you”.

That had been it. Thanks for the house, Charles. Good riddance. Or not.

The first time he had seen his mom like that, though, that had been scary. It was when she had broken the news to him that there was a woman with twin kids three years younger than James that was a whole other family Charles had in Alpine. The twins were the reason why they’d moved from Boston to Alpine in the first place. "No, I don't know what she knows, if she knows," Sarah had answered the first dumb question that had come to James' mind at the time. To that bomb followed the news that James should start packing up his whole life because they were moving to Buenos Aires.

Back then there had been no mate, or silly chatter about new boyfriends or spoiling nieces. But this looked a lot like that first time. James could feel the blood leave his face as he sat down.

“It’s Mabel, baby.” She took a deep breath, “It’s… I’m sorry. She’s very ill and— there’s not much to do. Nothing, really.” When James didn't say anything, she lifted her gaze to search his face. "Jamie, honey.--"

James shook his head. “What's going-- what are you saying”

“I’m sorry, baby.” She took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry”

It took some repetition, some explaining, some retelling of the events until Sarah saw some signs of acknowledgement in his only son’s eyes.

James had met Mabel the same day he’d met her husband, Nico. The day Sarah and James arrived with everything they owned, with a life in shambles in their luggage, there at the airport with James’ grandparents, was Nico, a man Sarah’s age that James didn’t know.

James remembers what he thought when he first met him. He remembers he thought that must be what it is like to have siblings. This must be one of Sarah’s cousins he hadn’t met in any of the three times he’d been in Buenos Aires before. Sarah let him ramble on and on about him until she couldn’t hold it any longer and burst into laughter, Mabel already standing in front of them at the front door of the apartment building where they were going to live for the next five years, on the ground floor like respectable people. Mabel was the one to explain to James that Nicolás had been Sarah’s first boyfriend, the one she’d left behind to go to Spain to study, back in 1977, when long distances were indeed long and insurmountable.

Mabel was, then, the most beautiful woman James had ever seen. She had the shiniest longest darkest hair, and the greenest eyes, and the most infectious smile, and she was so smart, so sweet, so generous and so perfect, that if James developed a crush right then and there, can’t have been too obvious because nobody noticed, he's sure.

Mabel was Nico’s wife, and soon became Sarah’s closest friend, and James’ too, if that was possible. She was his second-favourite person in the world since day one. Was demoted to third because James fell in love for real, but she won second-place again these days, whenever Ani didn’t do the dishes or forgot to turn off the heating or the air conditioning when she left the house.

James had hoped today, that Mabel would be here so he didn't have to tell the whole Prince Cristian spiel twice.

Mabel was the coolest young aunt James could have asked for: It was Mabel who had told him, that first December in Buenos Aires, that young people went out after midnight to celebrate Christmas and New Year. Mabel had encouraged him to text his new friend from school, maybe they could go somewhere together. It was Mabel who saw right through him during Christmas lunch, and who James had confided in about that first kiss with Catalina.

Years later, it was Mabel’s shoulder he’d wept on at the airport, when Cat left the first time. It was her fingers running through his hair until he calmed down, and her own tears joining his on that backseat, while Nico patiently waited at the wheel for the rain to slow down a little, so they could go home.

Mabel had listened to him, and spoken to him about Cat when Sarah couldn’t. She had told him about loving without forcing people to fill in a bucket list of expectations. Mabel had been always the voice and the example that shaped James’ ideas about love.

Mabel wasn’t going to live to see another New Year, and suddenly, the full weight of everything that is wrong with existence fell on James, making it hard to shove air into his lungs.

-

Cat when you read this, call me?

I’m going to Mabel’s.

-

There was no answer.

**Cultural Notes:**

Male is short for Malena. It's pronounced mah-le.

So about mate, the infusion that we drink obsessively in Argentina, Paraguay and Uruguay. It's like the tereré of Ch2, but with hot (not boiling!) water. I don't dare describe the perfect mate because it could start a war with anyone who feels strongly about it.

But if you are not from around here, what you need to know is that we do this all the time: we share it with people, and it's not unusual to share it with complete strangers. Sounds dire in times of pandemic, I know. It's a nightmare to write in English, not just because a lot of meaning would fly over the head of anyone who doesn't know the implications of small actions of the whole ceremony, but also because there are specific verbs and nouns that simply do not exist in English because they are exclusive to this specific activity. One of them is the verb CEBAR: the act of pouring water in the mate. There is ONE person who has the kettle/thermos and they are in charge of the whole ceremony.

Opera is a commercial brand of local wafer-like cookies/biscuits, that a lot of locals would frown at in this scene because they are not classic mate cookies. Mate is more usually accompanied by savoury pastries, like bizcochitos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are LOVE.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
